"The kids are spinning on the roundabout and silently shrieking. I am holding you up with a fist around the base of your spine. You are vulnerable everywhere, but especially there."     Early March, 2015   "By the way," Doyoung starts nervously, munching on a pepero stick he saved in his backpack, "you never told me your name." He looks up from his notebooks, eyes boring into the student seated on the other side of the cafeteria table.     "Ah, right."     "So," Doyoung hesitates, "what is it?"     "Yuta. My name is Yuta."     "Oh, you're not Korean?" Doyoung's mouth drops open, shocked at the revelation. The apparently Japanese student spoke in such fluent sentences he figured he's a Seoul native -- then again, he does have a hint of an accent now that Doyoung thinks it over again. "You must have been in Korea for a long time then."     "Since middle school. And thanks, it was hard to learn at times."     "It goes both ways -- I don't think I could ever learn Japanese even if I tried."     "If you change your mind, I'd be more than happy to teach you!" beams Yuta and suddenly Doyoung doesn't feel as nervous in his presence anymore. "I used to do some tutoring in my senior year of high school, so I'm an experienced teacher. Trust me."     "Maybe," Doyoung jokes, but it ends up sounding so serious, "just maybe."     Yuta is about a year older than Doyoung or at least so the bunny-faced boy hears from the rumours, but he had to re-take one year. Even so, he managed to land a spot at a nice university thanks to a sports scholarship. Seeing him here, Doyoung can confirm he does look kinda sporty in his Raglan shirt and skinny jeans with a baseball cap turned backwards on his head. Doyoung can also see why the boy became such a popular topic, his visuals were... not bad.      He looks gentle and warm, soft and caring -- the ideal flower boy, the ideal husband material, the ideal son-in-law. But Doyoung prefers faces that are more mature, more daring. Rough eyes that bear mysteries, whispering words that leave his heart heavy and clenched. Because those faces are the most memorable.      "Feel free to just say Seoul Boy though."     Doyoung's eyes widen. "What?"     "Seoul Boy," Yuta repeats, perhaps thinking Doyoung hadn't heard him the first time but that isn't it. "It's a nickname some of my team members around here gave me -- because I barely have an accent, they say I'm like a native Seoul Boy. Or you could call me Osaka Prince, but it's so cheesy it kinda gives me goosebumps."     "Right." Doyoung clears his throat, deciding it's a mere coincidence. "I had a friend last year -- a friend who went by many names."   "And you speak of him in past tense... because?"   "Because though I say he was my friend, at the same time he wasn't." Doyoung sighs. "He had been the type of friend you wish you never met."       "I see." Yuta nods, eyes facing skyward. "I've had one of those friends, too."     "I hope we don't have to be like that though." Doyoung quickly adds, reaching for a pen and bringing it to his notebook. He begins to scribble in Yuta's name on an empty row. "Anyway, let's get started on the project. We should separate our work. I prefer research over presentations... you don't mind that, right?"     "Course not! Presentations are my forté!"     Doyoung smiles. Must be nice to be so confident, he thinks.      But in the back of his mind, one question lingers.     Perhaps... just perhaps, do you know a Lee Taeyong?     Lee.     Tae.     Yong.         It's a name that sends shudders down your spine.                         June 29th, 2014 "By the way, you never mentioned your name?" It's a question, but it's more directed at Doyoung himself than Seoul Boy. He had almost forgotten that his 'lover' hasn't even revealed his name yet. "We've spent 10 days  of Summer together, I figure I deserve at least that much information."     "I suppose I should." A tobacco-scented laugh escapes from Seoul Boy, vanishing into the thick evening air. "It'd be sad if you die from curiousity one random night."        "I'm not that curious, but I am curious. More of why you're scared to say it than what the name is."     "Lee Tae Yong," Seoul Boy says, emphasizing each character, "that's my name."      "Lee Taeyong," mumbles Doyoung, nodding to himself as he repeats, "Lee Taeyong. Lee Taeyong is Seoul Boy, Seoul Boy is Lee Taeyong. Lee Taeyong." He remembers the name -- but where has he heard it from before?     Taeyong suddenly turns serious. "It's a name you can't speak of, nevermind where you go. You've got to promise me that."     "What's the big deal?" Doyoung teases, unable to sense the unease in Taeyong's hoarse voice. "You're not a runaway convict or s